by Chris Page
Harold couldn’t trust Swein. There was only one solution - the deranged younger brother had to be killed, and there was a natural candidate for the job.
The old veneficus, Twilight.
It would require a certain amount of diplomacy, but Harold had come by some interesting information that just might help the cause.
He sent a messenger to Avebury requesting a meeting. As usual the pica forewarned their liege-lord of the impending visitor, who was waiting for him with Tara, Feasa, and Eoghan by her side at the gates of the compound.
As he said to Tara, when kings were beating a regular path to their door, the systems and laws of sovereign rule were failing. But, since nothing much was happening, as before, they would at least hear the king’s story. As with the same request from Edward the Confessor, Twilight and Tara appeared, purposefully without warning, at the palace in the same room as Harold pretty much before the messenger had remounted for the return journey.
Harold was seated alone in a window seat of the palace great hall gazing out over the Thames, the very part of the river that he had filled with ships the last time Twilight and Tara had arrived to bargain on behalf of Edward. As is usual the guards, four of them in close but not suffocating attendance by the two entrance doors to the room, began to draw swords and step forward when they’d had a chance to adjust to the sudden appearance of the old veneficus and his small, redheaded companion. Waved down by Harold they went thankfully back to attention at their guarding positions. They all knew the reputation of the old astounder and his tyro, and the last thing they wanted was to challenge them.
‘Come and have a seat,’ said Harold, waving to the empty space next to him in the window. ‘And thank you for coming.’
He then proceeded to tell them of the suspicious death of Edward and the proven assassination of his brother Beorn by Swein.
‘And you want us to take care of Swein?’ Twilight said, jumping immediately to the point.
‘Yes.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Ensconced in Winchester Castle with at least five hundred men.’
‘I know this castle well,’ said Twilight almost as an aside. ‘It is where the Viking Guthrum laid siege to King Alfred and his army.’
‘And you led four thousand men and the king and queen to safety through the old tunnels.’ Harold chuckled.
‘You know your history.’
‘A prerequisite of rule in this war-torn country,’ said the king quietly, looking out over the river. ‘Knowledge of the past shows us what will happen in the future.’
‘Why not use the vast army at your disposal to smoke him out?’ Tara asked.
‘Because it would take many weeks and cost unnecessary lives. I cannot afford the time or manpower. There are other pressing battles to fight in the north of the country.’
‘Give us one good reason why we should become your assassins,’ Twilight said bluntly.
Harold waved at one of the guards, who turned, opened the door, and waved to someone on the other side. A tall, flaxen haired, heavily bearded man with a large silver ring in one ear, great Norse tattoos snaking down his neck and bare arms, and Viking amulets on each wrist, strode purposefully into the room. A large, double-handed sword hung at his side. He bowed low to the king and stood at a respectful distance. He didn’t once look at or acknowledge the presence of the two venefici sitting in the window alongside Harold.
‘This is Hjordar Salonen, brother of Eric ‘Ekki’ Salonen,’ said the king. ‘Ekki led the Viking raiding party that was ultimately responsible for the death of your mother.’ He looked at Tara. ‘And your companion.’ His gaze switched to Twilight. ‘We have assumed that you caught up with the raiders at sea.’
Twilight looked at Hjordar Salonen and read his mind. A typical Viking warrior’s set. Lots of honour-bound, heroic Norse deity stuff. Loyal feelings for Harold, utter hatred for Twilight.
Is he genuine? Tara asked using mind-speak and knowing that Twilight had given the warrior’s mind a cursory scan.
He is genuine . . . for a Viking, Twilight replied. This isn’t saying very much.
Harold spoke again. ‘As you have no doubt noticed, Hjordar, in common with most Viking, does not like venefici, especially you.’ He nodded in Twilight’s direction. ‘You have been responsible for the deaths of a great many Viking in the past and the eradication of their own venefical strain.’
‘And I will be gladly responsible for a great many more if they partake in any more brutal berserker raids on Wessex,’ replied the old astounder softly. ‘And as for their venefici, all three of them were an abomination of our code.’
‘I make the point,’ said Harold, ‘to qualify the veracity of the story Hjordar told me. This man has absolutely no reason to side with or say anything that is favourable to either of you. His intense dislike of Twilight and strict adherence to Viking honour sees to that. Therefore, his words can only be irrefutable truths if they are seen to help you in any way.’
Twilight nodded. Harold had become pretty good with words himself in the two years he’d been on the throne.
The king continued. ‘Hjordar is here as ambassador for the Danish lowlands. During my exile in Denmark with Beorn and Swein, Hjordar and I became friends, and it is now a pleasure to have him here alongside me again working for unity between our two very different cultures.’
Harold nodded at the tall Viking warrior.
Finally the tall Viking turned to Twilight and spoke, his voice studiedly neutral.
‘My brother, Ekki, who led the raid on your compound, was blackmailed into doing it. You were the target, not the girl’s mother. When he couldn’t find you he took the next best thing. He was desperate - if he didn’t take something worthwhile back with him, our own parents would have died. They were kidnapped and held as hostages pending your capture. In exchange for you they would have been released.’
‘The kidnapper was Swein?’ Tara asked.
‘Yes. Soon after you destroyed Ekki’s ship, Swein executed our parents.’
‘Where were you when all this was going on?’
‘Here, in England. Recruiting soldiers for the invasion on behalf of Harold, Beorn, and . . .’ he spat expressively, ‘that murdering pig, Swein. I only discovered the truth about the deaths of our parents recently.’
‘The other truth about this is, despite what you thought about our father, Beorn and I knew nothing of the captives and raid upon your compound. It was all Swein’s doing. In truth it is not the way in which Beorn or I operate. Much good it did him.’ Harold’s tone was bitter. ‘When the three of us were in exile together in Denmark, Swein took a liking to dry henbane pods. As you know, henbane is a powerful narcotic and when chewed can provide a powerful stimulant. Swein chewed them almost constantly and became even more twisted under their influence. He’d always been wild but tempered the wildness with a certain reason. The henbane seemed to strip out this ability, removing the only check on his actions. Everything he now does is governed by his most basic instincts; he has become a crazed killer fuelled by his addiction to the dry plant seeds.’
Hjordar nodded. ‘I have offered my services to the king to kill Swein, for the hatred I have for him is even greater than that I have for you.’
‘That would be the waste of a good man. Swein knows that Hjordar Salonen here is close to me and aware of how his parents died. He would have him killed the moment he set eyes upon him,’ said the king.
‘So you’re saying that my mother’s death was entirely down to Swein?’ Tara asked.
‘Entirely,’ replied Harold.
‘And that is evidence enough for us to kill him?’
‘Isn’t it?’
Both the king and Hjordar looked at Twilight.
‘I have already planted a few permanent images in Swein’s warped mind of some appropriately lurid deaths,’ said the old astounder. ‘My tyro and I will now consider if we should turn one of those images into reality.’
The king be
gan to thank them for their consideration, but it was too late.
The window seat was empty.
‘Harold is right about history teaching us about the future,’ said Twilight. ‘But history also has a habit of repeating itself.’
Invisible, they were sitting on the highest point of the roof at Winchester Castle, a place Twilight had spent some time some fifty-five years ago when King Alfred’s army had been trapped inside.
‘Plant-lore knowledge and husbandry have always been a great aid to the venefical cause. The long magus said that it was the purest form of sorcery and its knowledge would always bring an extra dimension to any conflict.’
He pointed to a point where a small stream meandering down the rolling hills gathered into a pool.
‘I used three plants mixed together and applied to the water at that very place to dispatch seven hundred Viking.’
‘Seven hundred!’ Tara’s bright green eyes were wide in wonder. ‘What were the plants?’
‘Black hellebore, eyebright, and foxglove, a deadly combination of narcotic, muscle relaxant, and heart stimulant. There’s far too much going on there for a human body to cope with all at once, especially in the quantities I applied.’
‘Hellebore is similar to henbane, the narcotic that Stein uses?’
‘The Viking name for hellebore is henbane. Hyoscamus niger variety.’
‘So how are we going to use it to trap Swein?’
‘We’re not. He’s going to do it all by himself. Watch.’
Sure enough, within minutes the door to the castle ramparts was thrown open violently and Swein staggered out. Pushing men violently aside who tried to restrain him, the henbane-driven Swein swayed and staggered up the steep stone steps to the highest rampart, where he paused for a few moments, drew his sword, and screamed abuse at the heavens.
And jumped off.
He bounced three times from lower ramparts before his now broken body shattered on the hard road leading to the castle entrance. He twitched and held onto life just long enough to register and recognize an inner, hated voice.
The final moment of your murderous eternity has just arrived. Good-bye.
‘How, without so much as raising a finger, did you get Swein to kill himself?’ They were back at the compound and Tara was swathed in her two wolf hounds.
‘Simple really. Whilst you were asleep last night, I paid a visit to Swein’s bedroom in Winchester Castle. By the bedside pallet was his stock of dried henbane seeds in a small wooden box. As he snored like an inebriated hog, I replaced them with identical but much stronger seeds . . . of a slightly different persuasion.’
‘What, the ‘jumping off the highest castle rampart’ persuasion?’
‘Almost. More of the ‘complete belief that I can soar like an eagle’ variety.’
Chapter 8
‘Of all my hatreds, the one I reserve for the most bile is that of a veneficus gone wrong.’
Harold II proved to be a worthy king of England. He fought battles and won at Hereford, against Prince Gruffydd, the Welsh king; York and Stamford Bridge against Harald Hardraada, the king of Norway; and repelled an invasion by Tostig. His years on the throne of England saw him father six children with his mistress, Ealdgyth Swan-Neck, and marry another Ealdgyth, the former widow of his enemy, Prince Gruffydd, and daughter of Aelfgar of Mercia. With his wife he had a legitimate son, also named Harold.
Throughout this period King Harold made a point of meeting Twilight and Tara regularly. He knew that at some point in the future he would probably need to call again upon the extraordinary skills held by the enchanters and wanted to ensure that they would at least meet with him and listen. Although Twilight steadfastly refused to side with the king in any battles other than those threatening Wessex, he was happy to keep the relationship on a friendly footing. Meanwhile he got on with the pleasurable job of training the now eighteen-year-old Tara, who was fulfilling all the early predictions her special powers had promised.
Then the great event that shaped the Middle Ages English landscape for all time occurred.
Duke William of Normandy, later known as William the Conqueror, and his invading army arrived off the coast of East Sussex.
Accompanied by his own highly accomplished veneficus.
When the news reached Harold of the impending invasion by the Norman fleet, he was finishing off the remnants of the Hardraada army in Yorkshire, a fact that Duke William was aware of. Having killed Hardraada and extracted an oath of allegiance from his son Olaf, Harold and his army began an enforced march south to meet the new threat. The fact that Duke William of Normandy was Harold’s first cousin and had sheltered him for twenty-five years in exile at his Norman court, was now irrelevant. William was challenging for the throne of England, and for that he must be resisted at all costs. As he set off, he once again sent a messenger to the venefical compound requesting a meeting with Twilight and Tara at the first opportunity. By the time the messenger reached Avebury, Harold and his men had almost reached the coast of East Sussex. Twilight and Tara transformed to Harold’s camp and rallying point at a place called Caldbec Hill.
Seven miles from Hastings.
Harold looked and sounded tired. The long campaign and enforced march from Yorkshire via London to gather some fresh troops had taken it out of him. He smiled a weary welcome at their sudden appearance, conducted, as was now usual, without prior notice of their arrival in the centre of his pennant-flying tent. As was also now usual, he quickly stood down his guards, who, in a heightened state of nervousness due to the situation, had begun to draw back their spears at the sudden appearance of the enchanters.
‘How you’ve grown since we last met,’ the king said by way of a greeting to Tara, who nodded back at him. And he was right. Tara had grown in all directions. The curly red hair had straightened and deepened in colour, she was almost the same height as Twilight, and the green eyes flashed a clear, deep emerald.
‘She had developed into a beautiful woman.’ ‘How does your training go?’ Although the question was aimed at Tara, the king’s eyes were looking at Twilight.
‘It goes very well. She knows more now than I’ll ever know,’ the now all gray- and silver-headed astounder replied. ‘Perhaps,’ said Harold. ‘But somehow I doubt it.’ Twilight inclined his head gracefully and waited. ‘You have seen the ships of the latest invader?’ Harold asked. ‘Briefly. There are a great many of them.’ ‘At least two hundred vessels, my lookouts tell me.’ ‘About half the number you had when you sailed up the Thames for the same reason.’ Tara smiled.
‘But I had a rightful claim on the throne of England through my ancestry. Although he’s my cousin, Duke William of Normandy has no claim at all. Like those I have been fighting in Yorkshire, this is yet another example of aggression and belligerency on the English throne by a foreign power without any claim to hereditary right or lineage.’
Both Twilight and Tara smiled inwardly at this. Kings and their pursuit of power, and defense of it once gained, was a subject that owed everything to skewed, personal reasoning and nothing to heritage or sonship. The one who wields the most power, in this case numbers of loyal soldiers, and uses them well, usually has the crown placed on his head.
Rex non potest peccare, The king can do no wrong, Twilight mind-sent to Tara.
Rex Domine! Long live the king, she threw back at him sarcastically.
‘I take it that you called us here to help you against this Norman invader?’ Twilight got straight to the heart of the matter.
‘Yes. Not just for me and my right to remain on the throne but also in defense of this realm against an alien attacker who, if victorious, will soon cast his Norman shadow over your beloved Wessex.’
‘We detected a strong aura within their lead vessel. You are aware that the Norman duke and his force have a veneficus with them?’ Tara asked.
‘There was a rumour that was the case, but I wasn’t sure. It was another reason for asking you to assist.’
‘T
ake it from us,’ said Twilight softly. ‘They have a veneficus and a powerful one at that.’
‘Then without your help to nullify their sorcery, the odds are stacked against me,’ Harold said gloomily.
‘We will consider all the options,’ said Twilight. Harold didn’t need to look, he knew they’d gone.
It was midnight. The onboard lanterns swayed to the creaking and groaning of the ship’s timbers as she heaved gently against her anchors. The small forward cabin of the Mora, the command ship of William, Duke of Normandy, was crowded. Either side of William sat his childhood friends and closest and most trusted advisors, William Fitz-Osbern and Roger de Montgomery; then came his two half-brothers, Robert de Mortain and Odo of Bayeux, and at the far end Geraldo Le Maitre, the captain of the Mora. In the shadows stood another figure, a vague, immobile gray outline of a tall, hatless man with long dark hair.
The captain was talking about the tides and the best time of the following day to disembark the soldiers, knights, and their horses. They decided that the first-light tide was the best one; the less time the horses spend on boats, the better. The duke looked at Roger de Montgomery.
‘Once the knights are ashore and their boats clear, you will signal all the boats on the right side to land?’
‘They will have to take the beach and come in no more than ten at a time. There isn’t enough room for any more. Five minutes should be enough to unload each boat’s complement of men and equipment.’ Roger de Montgomery pointed to the small beach on the vellum chart spread out on the table. ‘It’s heavy shingle with little sand; therefore the boats won’t get stuck and can be pushed back out to sea quickly to make room for the next ten.’
The duke looked at William Fitz-Osbern. ‘And you’ll be carrying out the same landing on the left side?’
‘Simultaneously, my lord. The beach on this side is also heavy shingle, although slightly smaller. We think a maximum of eight boats at once. We may not get the last few boats off due to the ebb tide, but as they’re the last they won’t be blocking any incoming boats.’
